


at dawn

by deadeye



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alcohol, Final Fantasy XIV: A Realm Reborn, M/M, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 09:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16513817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadeye/pseuds/deadeye
Summary: They share some pleasantries over ale later that night. “I’m surprised to find someone else my age here,” Arenvald says, taking a sip from his mug. “A’aba’s got as many years of experience adventuring as I am old, and Aulie’s a great deal more seasoned than I could ever be.”Pascal takes a hearty swig from his glass. “Aye, I wasn’t sure what to expect steppin’ into a place like this. Before this mess I’d been makin’ my wages as an angler off the shores of Vylbrand. A little out of place amongst all these adventurers, don’t you agree?”





	at dawn

“Ah, couldn’t help but overhear you lot jabbering - you’re half Ala Mhigan, are you? I am as well,” Pascal says, settling down on a crate next to the group. The Highlander boy has been idly chatting with two other adventurers, an older male Seeker and a fatigued looking Elezen woman, ever since he’d arrived at the Waking Sands.

The Highlander, named Arenvald, as Pascal learns afterwards, gives a weary nod. “Indeed. My father was in the imperial army, a man of Garlean blood,” he says, expression turning grim. “I trust you know what I mean when I say that my Ala Mhigan mother did not welcome my arrival?”

///

They share some pleasantries over ale later that night. “I’m surprised to find someone else my age here,” Arenvald says, taking a sip from his mug. “A’aba’s got as many years of experience adventuring as I am old, and Aulie’s a great deal more seasoned than I could ever be.”

Pascal takes a hearty swig from his glass. “Aye, I wasn’t sure what to expect steppin’ into a place like this. Before this mess I’d been makin’ my wages as an angler off the shores of Vylbrand. A little out of place amongst all these adventurers, don’t you agree?” He sets his drink down on the counter with a clink and sighs.

“As I was reelin’ in a big one a few moons back, a wave of emotions crashed over me unlike anythin’ I’d ever felt before. T’were as if I were experiencing that poor trout’s entire life myself… I couldn’t bear to dredge her up from the waters after that, so I unhooked her ‘n’ let her go on with her life.

“That evenin’ I ventured over to the Drownin’ Wench as I normally do ‘n’ relayed my story to another patron. Debauched as I were, I reckoned they’d wave it off as another angler’s tall tale. Instead, they pointed me to the Sands, ‘n’ now I’m here tellin’ you my tale just like I did that night.” Pascal picks up his glass to gulp down the last chugs of ale. “And what about you, lad? How’d you end up here?”

Arenvald cocks his head and keeps his grip firm around his glass. “I had a dream unlike any other. I was myself, but then I became something… more. When I spoke of it to others, they directed me here,” he replies, a smile spreading across his face. “Not quite as exciting as your peculiar visions, but my story nonetheless.”

Pascal chuckles and playfully rubs Arenvald’s shoulder, and they order another round of drinks.

///

The two of them aren’t all that different, they soon find out. Both had Ala Mhigan mothers who’d abandoned them as children, and neither ever knew their fathers - though probably for the best, as Pascal puts it. They share a sobering moment when Pascal listens to Arenvald recount the days of his youth, having to resort to thievery and other reckless crimes after his mother kicked him out onto the streets of Ala Mhigo.

“As I grew, she would check my brow over and over, convinced that a spot on my skin was an emerging third eye - like the kind you see in pureblood Garleans. My mother did not care for this taunting reminder of my heritage, and took up a knife…” Pascal winces as Arenvald runs his fingers through the front of his hair to flash his forehead; a mangled knot of tissue sat in the center, an unfortunate relic of what he’d experienced.

In a drunken attempt at consolation, Pascal takes the hand Arenvald used to reveal his scar and clasps his own over it. Arenvald’s a bit startled, but he can’t say he dislikes it.

Arenvald does notice upon inspection of Pascal’s face (they’re alarmingly close together, but for some reason, he doesn’t quite mind) that he, too, has quite a gnarly scar running across the bridge of his nose, though it’s certainly not as prominent as Arenvald’s.

“If you don’t mind, what’s the story behind that?” Arenvald asks sheepishly, gesturing along the direction of the mark.

“Not as sad of a tale as yours, I’d say,” Pascal says with a smirk, running a finger along the groove of his scar. “You ever seen one of those river yarzons? Long-legged bastards, the lot of ‘em! I was haulin’ a load of shrimp down by Summerford when one of those things attacked me. Were I more attentive I’d’ve been able to get away unscathed, but a single misstep landed me with a gash across my face,” he says, rubbing his neck with his hand. “Still handsome though, no?”

Arenvald just laughs. “Absolutely.”

///

They lose track of time, and before they know it, the sun is near rising again.

“Wh... What? How long were we in there?” Arenvald sputters, shielding his eyes from the encroaching rays. “Didn’t feel like much time at all...”

“Ah, I’ve lost countless nights back in the Coffer & Coffin,” Pascal remarks, holding onto Arenvald’s arm for support as they stumble out of the building. “It’s my favorite spot when I’m around these parts, though truthfully I’d enjoy any place with plenty of ale!”

They’re thrown into a laughing fit as they settle onto a wooden bench in front of the inn. Once again they find themselves rather close. Pascal throws his arm around Arenvald’s shoulder and rests his head into the crook of the other’s neck.

For the first time that evening (or day, rather), they share a moment of serene quiet. The entire night had been full of nonstop chatter about their childhoods, their hopes, their dreams... never had there been a lull in their conversation.

But now, as they sit intertwined, it’s peaceful. All Arenvald can hear is their breathing and the dull chirping of insects in the arid backdrop of the desert. It’s so strangely intimate and foreign to him, he simply can’t find any words to describe the feeling, though he’s sure it’s due in part to the buzz of the ale. How close they are to each other, how the morning light accentuates the planes of Pascal’s face, how if they were an ilm closer, their lips would perchance meet…

“Where are ye off to after this?” Pascal says suddenly, breaking the sweet silence and jolting Arenvald from his dreamlike trance. “I’ve got a room in the Hourglass for the next few nights. Awfully steep price, but my last catch fetched me more gil than I’d expected.”

“Uh… back to the Sands, I’m afraid. I haven’t really got any other options,” Arenvald replies. He thinks of the makeshift bunk he’s made out of a few crates and old cushions and only wonders how much nicer it would be to share a warm bed with Pascal, but knows he’d be overstepping some boundaries he wouldn’t dare to cross were he to ask to be invited.

“Ah, we’d best be heading back to our lots then, eh? Should get as much shuteye as we can before tomorrow… er, today, as of now,” Pascal says, scratching his chin - Arenvald notices there’s a bit of scruff on it that wasn’t there when he first saw him. “Think Minfilia’s got some business for us to attend to. Wouldn’t want to disappoint her, being our first official mission and all.”

Arenvald slowly nods. Though he agrees it would be in his best interests to do his best for their opening assignment, gods, he wishes it didn’t have to be so soon. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow… ah, later today, then?” Arenvald says wistfully, their bodies separating and readying for departure.

“Of course, lad. Take care, alright?” Pascal replies. He gives Arenvald a few pats on the back before standing up and heading towards the Gate of Nald, waving to Arenvald just before he’s nothing but a speck on the horizon. Arenvald waves back, and a few moments later he treks back to the Waking Sands.

///

Understandably, A’aba and Aulie are a bit more than concerned when they find a hungover Arenvald draped over a chair in the morning, but they’re relieved when he tells them he’d been with a friend the entire night rather than gallivanting around Thanalan alone.

Aulie gets him a glass of water to freshen up, and Arenvald tells them a bit about the night before. He’d discovered that punching a yarzon right in its thorax would send it running for its mother, that skilled Lominsan anglers boasted a much heftier salary than one would expect, and that it took him four pints of ale to get utterly blasted.

What he keeps quiet about, however, is how much he wishes he was somewhere else, and with someone else.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt for Day 2 (Silence) of FFxivWrite2018, a writing challenge being held by sea-wolf-coast-to-coast @ tumblr!
> 
> Lots of canon dialogue used, albeit snatched from much later in the MSQ to suit this piece.


End file.
